Treasure in the trash can

Subtitle: Being loved makes me want to hurl.

I wish I could be a page in a book, and I could open it whenever I wanted to remind me who I am.

There it would sit, someone else’s words to give me definition.

I used to look to men for that. I used to think that romantic love was someone finally telling me who I am. I believed if someone could do that for me, I would love them forever.

The problem is that I know now I wouldn’t continue to believe them.

I’d see their kind words and ideas about who I am, and I’d argue with them. I’d make them wrong because it’s the only way I’ve been able to make sense of who I am and why I’m here.

Because what happened to me is wrong, but instead of believing that it felt easier to believe I was wrong.

And if I’m wrong, nothing good about me can be allowed to be true.

It's not that I never heard nice things about myself growing up. People were very complimentary.

It's that I can't rectify people believing something nice about me with me being given away.

So if I cling to being "unwanted" at least I have something to cling to.

If I let go of that, what is left? What does it mean to be loved and given up?

Who does it make me when I drop the "try-too-hard" thing and I show my true self?

Acceptance? Belonging? Unconditional love?

Those things don't jive with the transactional nature of being adopted.

If I'm loved for what I do rather than who I am, maybe I've earned it.

If I'm loved for who I am, how do I rearrange my chest cavity for that kind of information?

How do I listen to kind words about myself and let them hang in the air instead of acting like an alien who has never met another person before? (What do I do with my face right now? Do I say thank you or can I just walk away and pretend like they didn't say anything?).

How do I accept the pain of adoption as something other than the full truth of who I am?